The Last Ring

He blows—

a perfect circle floating slow

against the chill night, a fragile halo

caught in the city’s flickering neon.

It drifts, fragile and thin,

snags on the breath of cold air

before it folds into itself,

dissolving like a thought you forget to hold.

The rooftop hums with voices fading,

light fractures on cracked glass bottles,

and that smoke ring lingers, just long enough

for me to want it back,

though I know it’s already gone.